


you are mine and i am yours, and that will always be the best thing of all

by caryophyllaceae (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Chubby John, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Short John, Trans John, Trans Male Character, also tall rose, body image issues, buff rose, grimdorks !!!, petnames, so fluff you could make a pillow out of this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9998114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/caryophyllaceae
Summary: John Egbert is not Rose Lalonde's girlfriend, nor is he Joanmarie Egbert—he is her boyfriend, John Egbert, and she loves every inch of him, from head to toe.





	

You shift your feet nervously, staring at Rose Lalonde’s messy bedroom floor like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it. There are clothes scattered everywhere, a few books and her laptop cozy thrown in for good measure. You have your arms braced over your chest like metal bars, and she’s standing toe-to-toe with you, patient as ever. “Darling,” she says, softly, black-nailed hands reaching out to soothe over your arms. Goosebumps pop up. “I’ve already promised not to do anything you wouldn’t like, but I would very much love to see my incredibly handsome boyfriend de-robed.”

You nearly cry. When her fingers come up to wipe underneath your eyes, you guess that you already are. “No tears, John,” she croons, which only serves to make you cry harder, because it’s all too much, it’s always too much—god, you’re such a baby. “Come on, now, baby. I love every inch of you. Perhaps we could make an agreement, of sorts?”

“What kind of agreement?” You respond quietly, still refusing to look up from her floor. And she doesn’t press, doesn’t force you to do anything you wouldn’t want to, and that alone is enough to break all of the walls you’ve built up down.

In your mind, you picture her smiling, perfect black lips curved upward, only for you, because Rose isn’t a big smiler. Unless you’re involved. “I will remove one piece of clothing of your choice, but in return, you must remove the same article. How does that sound?”

You shift again, arms lowering slowly. “Okay,” you say, thinking of what you’d feel most comfortable taking off first. You’d love to go for the gold, and say something like, “pants,” but you can’t, so you instead start with your socks. You finally look up, on your own terms, as Rose would say. She smiles placidly and reaches down to remove her socks. They’re purple with squiddles on them. Jade made them for her. You follow her lead, letting your bare feet hit her soft purple carpet. You swallow. “Um—shirt. I think.”

“You think?” She asks, giggling. You don’t usually get to hear her giggle. It just isn’t something she does. You, on the other hand, are pretty well-known for giggling. “Oh, darling, how you make me laugh.” She takes her shirt off and throws it aside. Most people see Rose as kind-of OCD, really tidy and cleanly. She’s actually really messy and unkempt.

It takes a lot of courage for you to take your shirt off, but you manage. Her toes are cold but they’re pushed against yours, and that’s enough. Your binder is purple. She bought it for you, for your seventeenth birthday. “Pants,” you say, cautiously, and Rose gives you this look. This look she always gives you, like she’s making sure that you’re not just doing something to make her happy. “I swear, Rosey. Pants.”

“As you wish, darling,” she responds, unbuttoning her black capris and dropping them to the ground. You love it when she calls you darling, which is great, because she loves calling you darling. She has purple lace panties with a picture of a wand on them. You snort a laugh, and because she knows you, she smiles. “Would you be willing to give an eye for an eye?”

You nod, gulping like this is the first breath you’ve ever taken. You wiggle out of your khaki shorts that are almost too-tight to fit over your hips, which makes a shiver of disgust and something else race up your spine. You drop them and kick your feet out of them, and then you are standing mostly nude in the middle of Rose Lalonde’s bedroom on a Thursday afternoon. “Are you ready to go further, or would you prefer we stop for today?”

“I want—” you try, because you know what you want, but you just can’t get the words. So, instead, you shoot a quick glance at her bed, and she understands. Because she’s a really, really strong girl (she’s like, seven inches taller than you, and really buff) she picks you up and carries you bridal-style, dropping you down on the bed and following closely behind. You’re tangled up like two squiddles on her purple velvet sheets, and you’re giggling because her hands are like ice cubes and she’s touching your hips with them.

“What would you like me to do, darling?” She asks gently, tapping her fingers against your thigh to the rhythm of moonlight sonata, her favorite song for you to play for her. “Your wish is my command. You have the brilliant, strong-willed, Seer of Light, Rose Lalonde, at your dispense. Use the power wisely. Do not squander it.”

You kick your legs, covering your eyes. “Rose,” you say, dragging the ‘o’ out. “I guess—like—touch me? Or something sexy like that. I’m not very good at being sexy, I hope that doesn’t turn you off.”

“Turn me off?” She asks, slipping her freezing-cold hand into your boxers. “All of your oddity merely serves to turn me on, darling.”

She’s only got one finger in you when you spend yourself, hitting your high with shaking thighs and a high-pitched moan. Her hands are warm when she pulls them back out. You smile at her lazily, and she smiles back, a lot more in-tune with her facilities than you are right now. “Do you need help?” You ask, words slurred like you just drank an entire bottle of wine.

“I’d hate to be selfish,” she says. You shake your head, tell her it’s nonsense, and turn over to help her too. When she finishes, she’s way more put-together than you, way more than anyone else you’ve ever known, honestly. She isn’t very loud in bed, you guess, which kind of goes with her personality but really doesn’t. “Thank you, darling. You were wonderful. You  _ are  _ wonderful. Good boy,” she finishes, and your knees shake because dammit shit hell, praise is your weak spot, and she knows it.

You whimper like a lost puppy, clinging to her, surprised at your own libido. She coaxes you to a second peak with two curled fingers and one hand stuffed underneath your binder (after you requested, very eloquently, “touch my fucking boobs, Rosey,” because you are the master of words, it is you) and you ball yourself into her, thighs quivering and moaning pitifully. “You are such a good boy John, I am so proud of you,” she says, kissing your forehead gently, and you cling to her like an anchor and cry from overstimulation. She retracts her hands, which are a lot warmer than usual, and wraps her arms around you. You curl against her, face pressed against her breasts. “Was it good, darling?”

“Incredible,” you breathe. “I love you so fucking much, Rosey.”

She laughs, softly—not a giggle this time, just a straight-up, no punches pulled, laugh. “I return your vulgar sentiment, John.”

(You fall asleep in your arms and wake up two hours later. She’s on her laptop, messaging Dave and Jade simultaneously, and there are waffles next to her that smell incredible. She tells you that they’re for you, and also that Jade says congrats on the sex. You laugh and make a pillow of her thigh while you eat your waffles.)

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK i'm weak for grimdorks with trans!john and buff rose
> 
> thanks for reading !!!! :)


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